


Caffeine Dependency

by Carver Edlund (goshcas)



Series: Shit ton of dumb one shots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Artist Castiel, Businessman Dean, Coffee Shops, Fluff, M/M, apparently the only type of oneshot i can do is coffeeshop au, i wrote this at literally one in the morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshcas/pseuds/Carver%20Edlund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a Tuesday, and Dean never got coffee on Tuesday mornings. He tried to keep himself from becoming too dependent on caffeine and kept himself from having it every single day.<br/>But <i>damn it</i>, he needed it today, and he was getting a cappuccino, with like, seven shots of syrup because he <i>deserved it.</i><br/>Except, when he entered the little shop, inhaling the rich scent of coffee, his eyes scanning the warm wooden interior, his eyes caught on a guy.<br/>A guy with messy dark hair (fuck), light stubble (fuck), full pink lips (<i>fuck</i>), and the absolute bluest eyes he’d ever seen. (<i>Fuckfuckfuck</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caffeine Dependency

Heaven’s Brew was a small coffee shop on the corner of nowhere. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, filled with an eccentric bunch of people and the best damn cup of coffee in the city.

Dean loved locally owned businesses (and no, he’s not a _hipster_ ). He’s gotten to know the people at Heaven’s Brew well, really well. The type of getting to know where he was expected to stop in three times a week before work, where the barista Jo would ask how his work was and expected the response “shitty” followed by complaints about monkeys in business suits, how Sam was and loved the stories of his genius lawyer brother. He could just say that he’d have his usual and Jo would know that he meant a cappuccino, no syrups and no sugar.

It took staying up until three in the morning finishing a stupid business report for a stupid company he didn’t care about (and he thought that the late-night finishing of papers would end after college, but Dean’s procrastination hadn’t seen much improvement over the years and neither had his sleeping schedule) for him to meet Castiel.

It was a Tuesday, and Dean never got coffee on Tuesday mornings. He tried to keep himself from becoming too dependent on caffeine and kept himself from having it every single day.

But _damn it_ , he needed it today, and he was getting a cappuccino, with like, seven shots of syrup because he _deserved_ it.

Except, when he entered the little shop, inhaling the rich scent of coffee, his eyes scanning the warm wooden interior, his eyes caught on a guy.

A guy with messy dark hair (fuck), light stubble (fuck), full pink lips ( _fuck_ ), and the absolute _bluest_ eyes he’d ever seen. ( _Fuckfuckfuck_.)

The only thing that kept Dean from literally whirling around and getting as far from that building as possible in a short period of time was the fact that his body would probably collapse into a pile of limbs on the floor if he tried any sort of speedy movement.

But, okay, Dean _did not_ need a crush right now. He really didn’t. He was a grown ass business man who stayed up until three a.m. typing up business reports he didn’t care about, and therefore the absolute _last_ thing he needed was a crush on some guy at a coffee shop.

Then Smokin’ Hot Guy Upon Whom Dean Does Not Have A Crush took a sip of coffee and had to lick foam off his upper lip and _yeah_ , that was the end of that.

The man was sitting by himself, a pen dragging long lines across the page of a notebook absently as he sipped from a mug. He didn’t appear to be waiting on anyone, or to have anywhere to be in the next short while.

Once he got his coffee, Dean found his legs dragging him over to the man.

(What the fuck? Nope nope nope he’s not _doing_ this right now, stop stop stop why aren’t his legs working?)

“This seat taken?”

Yeah, that was his own voice, speaking apparently without his permission, which, yeah, fuck that.

The man looked up, startled (with good reason, to be perfectly honest) but shook his head after locking eyes with Dean.

The man kept watching Dean, his pen stilling on the page. His gaze wandered down to take Dean in before averting his gaze.

( _Good aversion of gaze or bad?_ thought the twelve year old currently residing inside of Dean. Asking the real questions.)

“Do you need something?” he asked after a while.

Reaction one: _Holy shit holy fucking shit his voice was fashioned out of a thousand orgasms and buckets of tangible sunshine, I want to make sweet love to that voice, Goddamn_.

Reaction two: Good question. Dean was wearing a full suit and the man was wearing… a trench coat. (It somehow worked on him).

The second reaction was the one that Dean decided to acknowledge, and the first was the one that he positively _buried_ in the back of his mind as deep as he could get it and decided he would never ever acknowledge it for as long as he ever lived.

“Uh, no. I just…” Just _what_ , exactly? His legs and mouth had been on automatic when he’d unwillingly been led over by his body, but apparently it was back to manual input because he was sitting there not saying a freaking thing. “Thought you could use some company.”

Did that imply that Dean thought he looked lonely or something? Was that a bad thing? Why was he doing this again?

“I see… thank you.” Then the man was ridiculously attentive in simply _staring_ at Dean and not saying _anything_.

Dean took a long drink of his coffee and wondered if it was possible to drown himself in it.

An agonizing few moments passed. It was probably several length centuries before the man spoke. “My name is Castiel.”

Castiel. Huh.

Fuck, he said that out loud.

“I mean, uh, I’m Dean. Winchester.”

Pause. For all of, like, five seconds.

“May I draw you, Dean Winchester?”

 _It’s nice to meet you_.

_You’re gorgeous._

_Tell me about yourself._

_Wanna go for a drink?_

_Are you single?_

_You’re so freaking gorgeous._

_I love your eyes._

Dean did not say any of these things.

“Uhhh. Sure.”

It was silent again for a lengthy amount of time, and Dean was completely aware that it was far past the time that he would have to leave if he wanted to get to work on time. He was distracted by the movement of the pen, quick and precise, long swoops instead of quick small strokes. It seemed like every time Castiel glanced up for reference, he looked directly into Dean’s eyes in what seemed like some sort of impossibly small smile. Maybe Dean was seeing things.

But there was definitely a calm, a contentment that fell over Dean and he saw clearly in Castiel’s eyes.

Suddenly Castiel stopped sketching and gave Dean a long look.

“I have to go.”

Dean did too.

Was he supposed to give his phone number? Ask for Castiel’s? Just say _Catch ya later_ and never interact again.

That was likely the weirdest encounter Dean had had, like, ever.

He freaking _loved_ it.

That was probably weird.

Castiel ripped out the page he’d been working on and placed it on the table in front of him, not even sliding it across to Dean before standing up and just _walking away_.

Dean was about to stop him and say _something_ when something scrawled on the page caught his eye.

He picked up the piece of paper and examined it. The sketch itself was gorgeous, each line drawn with care and leaving Dean wondering if he really looked like that, if Castiel saw him with such a glow around him.

Off to the corner of the page was written,

 

_I greatly enjoy your presence._

_Castiel_

 

Next to his name was one of those emoticon style smiley faces, and underneath it were ten digits.

Dean looked up in time to see Castiel leaving, casting a final look over at Dean, his cheeks red and his eyes glancing away as soon as they caught Dean’s. A small, sheepish smile graced his face and Dean was ninety percent sure he was in love as he pulled out his phone to add a new contact.

 

 


End file.
